Nebo

The Void 

The void gleams, a white ruin, 

     worse than drifts intruding 

on one's path, profound, solid. 

One must sit quietly. This void 

     melts if one breathes 

in long pulses, eyes open, still. 

Cultivate warmth deeply within 

     each breath. Study gloom

as a blank riddle, surrender. 

The Dreams

The dreams where I live in other people's 

               homes with two cockatoo

     in the barn: man comes to fix tv:

booth with atm and I forget my pin:

people come home, and man tries to hit

me: they have a baby on the floor:

     I have been watching Returned

          both in French and in English:

領袖 has eliminated any

and all distractions: supposed to be

                    a good thing:

when I see into the past I am a resident

of only towns: uprooted, mobile,

     I die without offspring and end

in churchyard: I encompass graves:

looking back like the Angel of History,

I see wreckage where I imagine 

     others might see heritage and look 

          forward to leaving a legacy:

     to look at youth but not be jealous,

but to love them, to want to join them

          because that is the best of life,

     to desire again the beauty of what

can be learned because nothing is

yet certain because now you know nothing

will be certain: nothing, even not nothing:

for youth: no death: no end: pull

into the NoTeL in Saint Clair

before I run off the road,

drunk, asleep.

Make Man an Image 

This voice like bells bells like flowers petals like soft keys played in some concerto not written for them but somehow just them just this a tiny piece that rings like sunshine like peals of green glass tinkling broken by skin sent through a metal wand to air this voice like bells bells like flowers petals like soft keys played in some concerto not written for them but somehow just them just this a tiny piece that rings like sunshine like peals of green glass tinkling broken by skin sent through a metal wand to air to air 

To Err

Some say God inscribed

nothing for Moses, and He sent

Moses away because men had

molded a golden calf, so Moses

shattered two blank slates

to harrow man. Back on Sinai,

God dubbed Moses a sly leader

who could mold a noble lie

—recalling Joseph’s tact handling

nobles and his relatives, too.

Steadfast against Pharaoh,

Moses only led until Nebo.

 

Nebo

Out of the many heresies I could

master, golden calves or bleeding

     wafers, comes this image:

          Ancients could separate

the physical from the spiritual

     like Socrates' daemon.

          Yet the form of God

could inspire a formless man,

a formless man who mimics God.

He prints Himself out of lumps

or breathes Himself into molded

faces to make rather than create

from scratch, to render an object

from dull matter, like a prancing

     stag.           Instead God said: 

'Let Us make man in Our image.’

     

Caterpillars 

"And who is in greater error 

     than the man who is led 

by his desire without 

guidance from God?" 

Caterpillars in the bush 

near our street's gutter 

haven't transformed. 

They still devour leaves. 

When will they awaken 

to their greater nature,

for not worms but cocoons 

     to encrust twigs: 

will wings replace lust?

Will desires pass away?

Swallowtails flow 

          with the breeze.

Flute 

Do the birds 

     hear 

why the boy 

plays his flute, 

why the crickets 

     call?

The Veils 

"We gave the Book to Moses,

but differences arose about it.

And but for a Word from your

Lord, already decreed, their fate

would have long been sealed." 

There are no words for what lies

          beyond the veils.

The harrowing speaks in every

language. All words dissolve.

God's mercy speaks without words. 

Trials he gives occur without words, 

          burn without words. 

Sit 

     Sit on weeds, 

feel a breeze 

that bends stalks 

     to and fro.

Behind mind,

     still eyes:

     Don't blink.